


but I can hear my heart pound (and it's reaching out to you)

by echoes_of_realities



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Fluff, it got rid of my writer's block though so there's that, the slight Amelie AU no one asked for but that I wrote anyways lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 11:30:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16016987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoes_of_realities/pseuds/echoes_of_realities
Summary: “Writing your number on a piece of paper?” Santana teases softly, “A little old school don’t you think?”Brittany’s lips curl into that mischievous, enticing smile. “I think it’s romantic,” she says easily, the blue of her eyes only slivers of colour through her eyelashes as she glances up at Santana, and Santana’s breath catches against her teeth. “Don’t you?”It’s not until Brittany’s left the cafe that she realizes that the paper in her hand isn’t paper at all. It’s a polaroid, new and shiny and glossy; the photo just smudges of freckled skin and bright, bright blue eyes, crinkled and sparkling in amusement. Santana’s heart thuds as she flips the polaroid over and finds, instead of the digits of the desired phone number, loopy script in purple pen that readsFind me.Or: A kinda-sorta-Amélie — A New MusicalAU.





	but I can hear my heart pound (and it's reaching out to you)

**Author's Note:**

> The kinda-sorta- _Amélie — A New Musical_ AU No One asked for but that kicked my writer’s block in the butt so I’m posting it anyways (basically I just took the premise of “Thin Air” from the musical because I’ve had this tiny idea for it for months).
> 
> Also I know Almost Nothing about NYC and Tisch and I didn’t feel like researching That much into either just for the sake of a fic that cured my writer’s block so ignore that.
> 
> Title from “Thin Air” from _Amélie — A New Musical._
> 
> Cross posted to Tumblr and Fanfiction.

Santana shows up to the coffee shop fifteen minutes early. Not— Not because she’s _nervous_ or anything, but because it’s Sugar who set her up on this date and Sugar is often in her own little world and forgets the little things like the time (the fact that Santana’s stomach churns just a little as the minutes change on her phone and creep closer to ten o’clock means _nothing_ ). Santana loves the girl, she’s pretty sure she wouldn’t have made it through orientation at the record company without her, but it’s because of that she _knows_ Sugar and she _knows_ to show up early.

The only problem with showing up fifteen minutes early is that she ends up awkwardly hovering in the doorway until an impatient man in a too nice suit coughs rudely behind her and brushes past. Santana tries not to get irritated because she _was_ blocking the door, but men in suits have always irritated her starting all the way back in elementary school when her father would hole himself up in his office all throughout dinner, his suit just as pressed and clean as it was when he left that morning. 

Santana takes a deep breath and follows the impatient man into the cafe, surveying the shop until her eyes land on a small table tucked in the corner with two bar height stools on it. She heads immediately for the spot and hopes the stools are more comfortable than they look. She fiddles with her backpack once she gets there, trying to look busier than she is so no one questions her for not getting a coffee yet (and to do something with her hands because they’re jittery and trembling even though she’s so _not_ nervous). She hangs her bag over the back of the stool and watches the impatient man from earlier reach the front of the line; the barista at the cash register subtly rolls her eyes at the man and Santana has to assume he’s one of the _belligerent regular_ types.

She doesn’t actually know anything about the girl she’s supposed to be on a date with beyond Sugar being _certain_ they’ll fall in love and telling Santana that this girl is beautiful and one-hundred percent her type; Santana wasn’t even aware she _had_ a type, but sometimes Sugar can be surprisingly intuitive about these things. She doesn’t even know what the girl looks like though, despite her nagging Sugar about it for a week; Sugar liked the mystery and the romance of it all, Santana would much rather like to at least know who to look for but Sugar was insistent. 

She studies the cafe from her corner, it’s Sugar’s favourite cafe and Santana’s been here often with her; despite it being midterm season at the universities, it’s not even ten yet so the cafe is pretty sparse. There’s a couple businessmen at the end of the counter waiting for their coffees, a group of moms sits at the longer table bouncing infants and wrangling toddlers and expressing their loud gratitude at their older children being back in school, there’s some university students scattered around the cafe (Santana can tell from the dullness to their eyes) either standing zombielike in line with rumpled clothes and tangled hair from the night before or huddled with their laptops pressed together to make room for the notebooks and textbooks on their table.

The scent of coffee fills the air and Santana can feel her nerve-endings come alive just from the smell; she isn’t sure if it’s rude to get a coffee before her date gets here, but she waits and scrolls aimlessly around on her phone just in case. She’s been on dates before, but she’s never been set up on one before, and despite the fact that she trusts Sugar (more or less) she feels just a little bit unbalanced. It’s not really her style to wait around for her friends to set her up on dates when they think she’s been single too long (it’s not like she goes on a _lot_ of dates, because, as she’s known about herself for a very long time, she’s actually kind of hopeless when it comes to girls, but she’s been on her fair share of them, and it’s really lame when her friends think she needs to be set up, and also just the tiniest bit sweet).

She’s just opening and immediately closing her solitaire app for the third time when a voice interrupts her. Santana starts, banging her knees against the bottom of the table and hissing out a quiet curse as pain throbs along her legs.

“Santana?” the voice asks and Santana looks up into the brightest pair of blue eyes she’s ever seen, crinkled a little at the corners with a hint of amusement but mostly widened with concern. Soft blonde bangs fall across her forehead, the longer strands swept carelessly behind her ears. Her sweater looks warm and soft, the dark teal sleeves falling down past her wrists. She’s smiling politely at Santana, her lips twitch and start to waver down into a slight frown the longer Santana remains silent. “You are Santana, right?”

Santana’s pretty sure her heart stops beating. (God _damnit_ Sugar is right, Santana definitely has a type.)

“Brittany?” she manages when she’s sure she’s not going to swallow her tongue. 

The girl — _Brittany_ — brightens and relaxes and her smile eases and Santana’s heart starts beating again, but at about twice the speed as before. Her lips are pulled thin and up by a genuine smile as she looks at Santana. Her gaze is warm and it makes Santana’s stomach swoop and her skin prickle. Brittany holds out her hand and Santana quickly shakes it, feeling the subtle strength in Brittany’s clever fingers as muscle shifts bone. 

“I’m really glad I guessed you on my first try,” Brittany says, fiddling with her book-bag, “Sugar didn’t tell me anything about you besides your name and that you were my typ—” Brittany cuts herself off and her eyes go wide, pink blooming in splotches like crawling ivy across her cheeks. “Sugar didn’t tell me anything about you,” she repeats.

Santana’s smile softens and she elects to ignore Brittany’s slip up in the hopes that it will ease her embarrassment. “You wanna go order?” she says instead.

Brittany nods quickly and continues to to avoid Santana’s eyes as she plops her book-bag down on the seat angled beside Santana’s, quickly digging through it until she produces her wallet, slipping it into her back pocket. She shoves the sleeves of her sweater up to her elbows and gives Santana a small smile as she leads the way to the counter. Brittany wears slightly faded jeans with splotches of dark ink speckled across them and rips that look more from wear than fashion, her sneakers are well worn and scuffed along the white edge lining the bottom, bright flowers patterned across the fabric. Santana inwardly smiles as she follows Brittany to the line up; Brittany is put together and attractive and graceful and has a smile that could make flowers grow and is, supposedly, completely her type.

They make small chat while they wait in the short line; how much it sucks that it’s getting so cold these days, how awful midterms are, how that one homeless guy who’s always outside of the Wendy’s across the street from this cafe deserves a new winter hat, how much they’re going to miss that tiny Japanese noodle restaurant on fourth avenue when it shuts down, and before they know it they’re at the front of the line.

Brittany orders and when the barista asks _is that all?_ Santana steps up beside Brittany and places her order, quickly handing a ten dollar bill over despite Brittany’s protests. Santana just grins up at Brittany and shoos her to the pickup section of the cafe, collecting her change from the barista before joining Brittany at the other counter. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Brittany scolds once Santana gets there, but there’s a brightness in her eyes that negates the tone to her voice.

Santana just lets her grin widen and Brittany’s eyes drop to her cheeks and Santana _knows_ that her damn dimples are probably peaking out; she’s always had a vague dislike for them because it completely ruins her whole _tough_ persona, but with something bright and warm in Brittany’s gaze she doesn’t immediately try to bite down on her smile and hide them. The barista calls her name and she quickly steps up to take the two coffees, turning and passing one to Brittany. She takes her coffee from Santana with a murmured _thanks_ , her fingers stained with dark ink right at the tips, and a smile warm enough to send heat flaring under the skin of her cheeks.

//

It takes a little bit to get comfortable with each other, but before Santana realizes it she’s laughing and talking with Brittany as if they’ve been friends forever.

They both know Sugar from the weird electives they’ve had to take over the years with Sugar switching schools and everything, and they both laugh at how they arrived fifteen minutes early to the different times Sugar told them. Santana finds out that Brittany came here on a math scholarship but dropped out of the program in her second year to pursue photography so she’s technically in her first year despite being a third year student; she find out Brittany is funny and witty and silly and _smart_. She tells Brittany about being a music major and how there’s only really been two people in her life who believed she could make it; and she’s never felt as funny or witty or silly or _smart_ as when she manages to coax a smile out of Brittany. 

Brittany tells her about the math program that barely let her eat or sleep and laughs when Santana tells her she’s glad that Brittany’s not a math monkey anymore, and Santana tells her about the band she was in for a first year class with people she thought were her friends but who really weren’t. She finds out that Brittany isn’t a morning person, and Santana tells her about the first time she got up on stage and how she just _knew_ what she was supposed to spend the rest of her life doing _._ Brittany tells her about how her step-dad raised her as if the _step_ part wasn’t even there in the first place and how she’s always preferred kimchi and rice over green beans and potatoes, and Santana tells her about the dumb group project she has coming up. Brittany tells her about her best friend since she was five and how they sometimes find buskers in the park and start dancing along to the music to draw a crowd, and Santana tells her about her best friend from first year and how she probably would have dropped out long ago if it wasn’t for her. Brittany tells her about her little sister, and Santana tells her about being raised by a single mom. Santana finds out that Brittany scrubs at the ink staining her fingers when she doesn’t know what to say next in the same way Santana fiddles with her hands when she’s nervous, and every time Santana’s eyes are drawn to those clever fingers as they start rubbing at the dark blotches.

“Do you have some of your photographs?” Santana asks the next time Brittany starts scrubbing her fingertips. Brittany hesitates and Santana offers her a small smile, feeling her lips tug up higher on one side than the other. “C’mon,” she coaxes, “You gotta have at least one album on you at a time. You said you take polaroids mostly, right?” Brittany’s eyes dart to hers and search Santana’s face for something before her expression eases into something awed and sweet and Santana can _feel_ her heartbeat in her fingertips when Brittany nods slowly. “Well you gotta have an album on you then, right? Where else would you put them so they don’t get wrecked in your bag?”

Brittany giggles and shakes her head a little. “You’re right, you’re right,” she concedes, twisting slightly in her chair to swing her book-bag up onto her lap. Brittany rummages through her bag and Santana catches a glimpse of a polaroid camera; not one of those new ones, but one of those old black and white ones with the overlarge flash unit at the top and the picture slot at the bottom. Brittany pulls out a decent sized album and scoots her chair over; Santana moves closer too until her elbow brushes Brittany’s where it rests on the table. Their eyes shoot to each other and meet before they smile and quickly glance down at the album, Santana can feel her cheeks burn and when she glances at Brittany out of the corner of her eye she can see that pretty pink colouring the peaks of her cheeks.

Santana forces herself to focus on the photography album but she can’t help sneaking glances at Brittany every time she goes quiet with thought or launches into a story or explains some of the techniques she’s used or just, you know, breathes. Santana finds it fascinating to study Brittany’s profile, the slope of her nose and the curve of her lip, the way her cheeks scrunch up her eyes and the way her mouth curls around her words; more than all that, Santana is captivated by the brightness on Brittany’s face and the passion in her voice as she talks about her work and Santana can’t help but admire how much more beautiful Brittany becomes when she’s lit up with her love for what she does.

Santana spends as much time studying Brittany’s face as she does the polaroids (okay, probably more time staring at Brittany, if she’s being truthful), but the polaroids are just as interesting as Brittany’s face, and show just as much of her personality too. Most of them are in shades of blue or orange, and all of them are carefully careless in their composition. There’s ones of emotionless skyscrapers stretching for a sky that’s always just out of reach and ones of houses falling apart that remind Santana of her childhood home; there’s ones of people sprawled out and laughing on a boat and ones of stoic businessmen with the crinkle of amusement in the laugh-lines creasing their eyes; there’s ones of a fat cat that Brittany laughingly says is Lord Tubbington and there’s ones of a songbird caught mid-hop; there’s ones underwater of a young girl with a dark halo of hair around her that Brittany explains is her little sister and there’s ones taken of an man in the reflection of a magazine that Brittany explains is her best friend Mike; there’s ones of tiny toys made to look like a real scene and there’s ones of Brittany in a dark room hanging pictures up and silhouetted in red light.

“Which one is your favourite?” Santana asks quietly, studying the way Brittany’s face is open and just a little bit longing as they flip through the album. 

Brittany doesn’t even hesitate like Santana expects her, she flips to a picture in the first half of the album and points to it. She glances up at Santana and her face is a little guarded for the first time as she searches Santana’s eyes; she must see whatever she’s looking for because her eyes soften and she looks so _young_ for a moment. “It’s this one,” she says and Santana holds Brittany’s gaze for a moment that’s just a little too long for her to play it off before she follows Brittany’s finger. 

It’s a picture of the city painted in the gold and pink of sunset, the buildings cold and dark against the life of the purple sky and the orange of the setting sun, the hint of a spruce tree in the top corner and the river in flashes of pink and violet and blue. Thin clouds converge on the city in white and yellow, the faintest dusking of indigo where the skyline meets the farthest edges of the city. There’s also a smudge of beige in the bottom left corner that must be the edge of Brittany’s finger and a long, thin strand of blonde hair cutting through the picture across the top half. Compared to some of Brittany’s other pictures, it’s amateur and careless, but there’s something beautifully truthful about the flaws in the picture.

“Why’s it your favourite?” Santana murmurs.

Brittany shrugs and ducks her head a little. “When I was going through all that stuff with my math scholarship and whatever, I used to walk around the city a lot and— And think. It was easier to pretend I wasn’t just a— A math monkey,” she says and gives Santana a quick smile, and Santana’s lips curl up in return before she even realizes it. “Anyways. Um, long story short, but my grandpa had given me his polaroid camera when I was in high school and I always took it everywhere even though I didn’t really use it.” Brittany’s gaze drops from Santana’s and she looks at the photograph, studying it with critical eyes, a faint hint of pink blooming across her cheeks and obscuring her freckles. “There’s this bench in this park on East End Avenue overlooking the city and I just— Something about that sunset over the city I was growing to hate made me just stop, I guess, and for some reason I remembered the polaroid I had and I just. I took my first picture and everything settled in me. I backed out on my scholarship, much to my parent’s horror, and applied to Tisch the next day and I haven’t looked back.”

Brittany suddenly bites down on her lip and her eyes widen. She resolutely avoids Santana’s gaze even when Santana ducks her head to try and catch it. “I— It was— It was kind of where I found myself, I guess,” she finally admits sheepishly, her eyes averted to where she digs the edge of her thumb nail under the laminate edging of the table.

“It’s beautiful,” Santana whispers, her eyes on Brittany’s face.

Brittany’s eyes dart up to Santana’s and she seems surprised to find Santana’s dark eyes already on hers. “Yeah?” she breathes.

Santana smiles and nods softly. “Definitely.”

//

Neither of them notice that over three hours have passed until Santana’s stomach starts growling and she feels her cheeks heat up. They finished their coffees ages ago, and after looking through Brittany’s photography album neither of them had moved from their spots, their elbows still mostly pressed together and their shoulders sometimes brushing with laughter. Brittany stops scrubbing at the ink on her fingertips and Santana doesn’t feel the urge to fiddle with her hands anymore.

They’re both reluctant to leave, but Santana still has a paper to work on and a midterm to study for, and Brittany has some film she needs to develop and they stand to part ways. Santana feels her stomach churn and she asks Brittany to watch her stuff so she can run to the bathroom before she leaves for the subway, and Brittany easily agrees.

Santana crosses the cafe and slips into the single stall bathroom and moves in front of the mirror to stare at herself. She doesn’t actually need to use the bathroom, and besides her apartment is maybe ten minutes away, but she needs a few moments to herself to work up her courage. It shouldn’t be so hard to ask a girl for her phone number, especially when that girl is Brittany with her bright blue eyes and her adorable smile and her ink stained fingers on Santana’s arm when she laughs, but somehow the thought paralyzes Santana’s insides.

She breathes deeply for a couple moments and critically studies her reflection in the mirror before she washes her hands and exits the bathroom, heading back to the table in the corner. Brittany stands with her book-bag slung over her shoulder, scrubbing at her fingertips and Santana takes a deep breath before she greets her. 

Brittany smiles and Santana can feel her heartbeat in the tips of her fingers again as she swings her backpack up onto her shoulder. She fiddles with the strap for a moment before gathering her courage in a deep breath and looking up; she finds Brittany’s gaze already on her and when she meets those blue eyes something sharp and aching shoots through her chest. “I had a really good time,” Santana says and her voice feels shyer than she’s ever known it to be.

Brittany’s smile spreads slowly across her face, starting at her eyes and spreading to her lips. “So did I,” she murmurs, “Sugar has good taste in blind dates.”

Santana lets out a surprised laugh and watches as Brittany lights up even more. “So, uh, maybe,” Santana stutters and she curses herself for tripping over her words so much, even as Brittany’s face softens and looks more wonderstruck than before, “Maybe we could do this again?”

Santana watches as Brittany swallows thickly before she takes a tiny step forward. “I’d really like that,” Brittany whispers and something blooms under Santana’s sternum until she worries she might float away.

“Yeah?”

Brittany catches her bottom lip between her teeth but it does nothing to contain her smile. “Yeah.”

Santana finally lets the smile she feels aching in her cheeks spread across her face and nods quickly, not caring how foolish or overeager she looks. “Cool,” Santana says, and with the way Brittany’s eyes slip catlike and teasing she knows it’s more than cool, “Do you— Can I have your number then?”

Brittany’s smile widens and she twists slightly and goes digging through her bag, producing a small piece of paper and a pen, turning to the table and quickly writing on it.

“A piece of paper?” Santana teases softly, “A little old school don’t you think?”

Brittany’s lips curl into that mischievous, enticing smile. “I think it’s romantic,” she says easily, the blue of her eyes only slivers of colour through her eyelashes as she glances up at Santana, and Santana’s breath catches against her teeth. “Don’t you?” Brittany teases, and her tongue pokes out just a little bit as she bites down a smile and Santana feels off kilter and dizzy in the best way possible.

“I mean, I guess,” she manages, and Brittany’s smile escapes her attempts to hide it until Santana can see amusement in her eyes and in the tiny dimples at the very corners of her lips. 

Brittany straightens and hands Santana the paper with her adoring smile still lighting up her face, and Santana just _knows_ her own dimples are showing and she doesn’t feel the least bit embarrassed about it. “Thank you, for the coffee,” Brittany murmurs, “And for a perfect first date.”

Santana wants to say something charming like _the first of many_ but instead all she manages to do is gasp a little when Brittany leans close and brushes soft, soft lips over Santana’s cheek right where a dimple creases the skin, pulling back with an even softer _bye_ before she crosses the cafe and leaves, Santana stuck staring dumbly after her, the scent of honeysuckle and jasmine still lingering in the charged air around her.

Santana only then realizes that the paper feels thicker and glossier than a scrap of paper should. She runs her thumb over the centre of the paper before bringing it up to her face and belatedly realizing it’s not a piece of paper at all. It’s a polaroid, new and shiny and glossy; the photo just smudges of freckled skin and bright, bright blue eyes, crinkled and sparkling in amusement.

Santana’s heart thuds as she flips the polaroid over and finds, instead of the digits of the desired phone number, loopy script in purple pen that reads _Find me._

Santana blinks blankly and stares at the letters, flipping the picture back over to find those blue eyes again, still as bright and amused as they were the first time she caught them.

She stands there dumbly until a college student hustles her over and Santana realizes that she’s just standing at an empty table. She shuffles over with a sarcastic _sorry_ as the college student punks his stuff down on Santana’s table. She weaves through the crowd, the picture clutched protectively in her hand, as she stumbles out the door. She huddles by the front window and restudies the picture thoughtfully, shivering in the autumn air.

There’s darker violet rimming the outside of Brittany’s irises, and the tiniest flecks of gold like splattered wet paint surrounding her pupils, cobalt blue streaking through the cerulean like forks of lightning. The corner of a blonde eyebrow is caught in the middle of the top edge of the photo, right where her forehead smooths into her nose. Her cheeks scrunch her eyes up, catlike and amused, a small collection of freckles gathered at the inside corner of her right eye and spreading out like constellations, mapping faintly across her nose to gather again at the opposite corner of her other eye.

The picture gives Santana no real hints other than to prove what Santana already knew from the first moment she met Brittany’s eyes, which is that Brittany is really, really, _really_ pretty. She flips the picture back over and rereads the words that should have been a phone number and feels even more stumped than she did in her calc midterm last week (the fact that a liberal arts degree requires _math_ is absurd and ridiculous and Santana _hates_ it).

Santana probably shouldn’t be laughing, but her face breaks out into a wide smile anyways. She’s always liked puzzles, ever since her mom used to get her those dungeon crawler games when she was really young, and the polaroid in her hand sparks the same flare of curiosity and determination. She should probably just write Brittany off for this. She should assume this is Brittany’s creative way of turning her down. She should be pissed that Brittany’s probably just leading her on or something. She should be irritated because she’s busy and doesn’t really have time to go on a wild goose chase around the entire goddamn city with nothing more than a polaroid picture and knowledge she’s learned in the past couple hours.

There’s all these things Santana _should_ be, but instead, Santana’s pretty sure she just found the most interesting girl in the entire city.

//

She picks a direction and starts walking. The city is huge, but Santana’s pretty sure Brittany wouldn’t be in a different borough simply because she can’t have gotten that far yet (or, Santana _hopes_ Brittany’s not in a different borough). She hopes she’s walking the right way, but she’s always had a pretty shoddy sense of direction, and she doesn’t have a clue what direction Brittany lives in or what direction she might have started walking in or even if Brittany _wants_ her to find her.

She opens Facebook as she walks and has _Brittany_ typed in before she realizes she has no clue what Brittany’s last name is. She narrows the search results down the city and the school, but there’s still hundreds of _Brittanys_ of various spellings, none of them with that soft blonde hair or electric blue eyes or beautiful smile, and Santana doesn’t even know _if_ Brittany has her school or city on her Facebook, or even if she _has_ a Facebook. Santana grumbles and shoves her phone back in her pocket, shivering a little in the autumn air. The sunlight is weak but still glints off the front windows of shops and Santana gets whiffs of coffee and soap shops and Korean food as she dodges people on the sidewalk. She thinks back on what she’s learned about Brittany in the past couple hours, but nothing comes to mind about where she would go after a coffee date, and then Santana is rounding a corner and seeing the purple flag of Tisch flapping in the wind. Santana grins and feels the slight bounce to her step as she heads for the building but does nothing to try and contain the sudden wave of hope that fills her.

There’s students hurrying back and forth across the side walk and Santana searches the crowd before setting her sights on someone. “Hey,” Santana calls to the woman approaching her from the front doors, “Excuse me. I was wondering if you can tell me where the photo—”

“No I’m not coming to your little punk rock, hip hop, pop concert or whatever it is you kids are into these days,” the woman snaps and Santana blinks quickly.

“What?” Santana says blankly, “No. _What?_ No. I’m not asking you to come watch my band play. I’m not even _in_ a band. What the hell gives you that idea?”

The woman’s eyes trail down Santana’s body, taking in the leather jacket and ripped jeans and leather boots and, okay, _maybe_ Santana sometimes dresses like she’s about to catch a concert but _still_. That doesn’t mean she’s in a lame-ass band or something.

The woman turns away walks down the street, her gaze answer enough, and Santana curses under her breath. “You make the mistake of joining a shitty college band _once_ and suddenly you’re pegged for life,” she mutters. 

She eventually manages to manoeuvre her way inside the school and then manages to find someone to point her in the direction of the photography department. Santana wanders the halls of the school, eyeing grey lockers and exposed brick walls as she finds her way to where the photography department is located, somehow managing to get lost a couple times and cursing as she sees a couple people dressed more or less exactly like her, toting bass guitars and drum sets around and she tugs self-consciously on her leather jacket, thankful for the beanie she threw on this morning both for the cold and for the fact that it means she’s not dressed _exactly_ like other music majors.

Santana can tell when she reaches the photography department because there’s framed photographs lining the hallways now and Santana wanders around, studying abstract pictures and lifelike stills equally, searching for something without really knowing what.

She’s not quite sure what tips her off, whether it’s the use of blue and orange or if it’s the life embed into the photo despite its still subject or how it feels like if Santana studies the photo long enough it will come to life, but she slows to a halt in front of one of the photos near the middle of the hallway. There, in the corner of the blown up photo, is a scribble of a loopy signature that looks like the beginning of _Brittany_.

“She’s good isn’t she?” a voice says over her shoulder. Santana glances to the side and finds a shorter Asian woman standing behind her, arms full of art supplies and a wide smile on her face. 

“Brittany?” Santana asks, and her suspicion is confirmed when the woman nods her head. “How do you know her?”

The woman laughs. “I took a couple years off before university and she switched programs halfway through her first so we were both a little older than the first years. We had, like, _all_ of our first year preqers together and we got a long really well. Plus, I’m sorta dating her best friend so there’s that too. I’m Tina, by the way.”

“Santana,” Santana answers absently. “Does she have classes today?”

Tina shakes her head and shifts the art supplies in her arms. “Nah, she made her schedule so she had one day off, the lucky jerk.”

“Do you know where I could find her then?” Santana asks eagerly, and Tina seems to waver a bit and Santana tries to clamp down on her enthusiasm. “I’m not— I’m not like some crazy person,” Santana promises.

“That’s exactly what a crazy person would say,” Tina quips.

Santana shakes her head quickly even though Tina’s right. “It’s not— I went on a date with her but I didn’t get her number and now I don’t know how to get a hold of her.”

Tina’s eyes brighten and start to glow with amusement. “You must be Sugar’s mystery friend,” Tina says around a smile, “She refused to tell us anything about you except that you were apparently Britt’s type.”

Santana ignores the heat that flares in her cheeks. “So you have Brittany’s number then?”

Tina looks at her calculatingly for a long moment and Santana can’t help it when she starts to play with her fingers. “Why didn’t Brittany give you her number?”

Santana shakes her head and reaches into her pocket, pulling out the polaroid she placed along the back of her phone; she glances at those blue eyes again and can’t help the smile that threatens to spread. “She gave me this instead,” she says and offers it to Tina.

Tina is studying Santana’s goofy smile with a curious, unreadable expression and Santana fights to bite down on that floating feeling inside that’s making her a little giddy. Tina’s eyes only drop from Santana’s as she juggles her art supplies around a little to free one hand and take the photo. She glances over the blue eyes before flipping it over and reading the words with a fond shake of her head. “She’s always had a little bit of a flair for the dramatic,” Tina says, handing the photo back. Santana takes one last look at it before she carefully places it against the back of her phone and slides the phone back into her pocket. “I don’t know where she would be though,” Tina says, “And unfortunately I left my phone at my apartment this morning and I don’t have her number memorized.”

Santana sighs and tries to ignore the ebb of disappointment in her stomach. “Thanks anyways,” she says.

Tina continues to study Santana with that curious, unreadable look before something in her eyes clear. “Maybe try the Alumni Sandwich Shop,” she suggests kindly, “It’s Brittany’s favourite place for lunch. It’s like a ten minute subway ride south and then a fifteen minute walk.”

Santana lets her smile spread unabashedly as she thanks Tina and turns back down the way she came. She gets lost another couple times on the way out of the university but takes the time to search up the sandwich shop on her maps app, eventually managing to make it back out onto the street. She weaves through tired university students and manages to stumble her way to the nearest subway station, filing down the stairs to the train station. It doesn’t take long before she’s squished between a screaming baby and a homeless man’s backpack on the train, and she braces herself with an arm around one of the poles as the train lurches forward. The sound of the train travelling the tracks booms through Santana until it echoes in her ears and she carefully slips her phone out to study the polaroid until her stop comes up; the booming doesn’t stop even when Santana exits the train and emerges back into the chilly autumn air and that’s when Santana realizes it’s her heartbeat echoing throughout her body. She slips her phone out of her pocket and studies the picture one more time before she slips that back into her pocket and follows the blue line on her maps app.

//

It’s past four by the time Santana’s stomach grumbles even louder than it did two hours ago when she was still with Brittany as she scans the storefronts and searches for the sandwich shop she’s looking for. With a start she realizes she’s been wandering around the city for over three hours, looking for a single pair of elusive blue eyes, and she doesn’t even feel frustrated by it. She’s eager to find Brittany again, and she’s a little nervous about what will happen when she does, and she’s more than a little hungry as she finally finds the sandwich shop Tina suggested. 

The warm air blasts her face when she opens the door and she takes a moment just inside the entryway to stomp some feeling back into her toes and huffs hot breath into her palms, wiggling her fingers until it feels less like her joints are aching with cold. There’s hope leaping under her sternum that she can’t squash even when she doesn’t catch sight of any heads of golden hair. She heads to the counter and places her order, and spices and fresh bread fills her nose and makes her even hungrier. Belatedly she realizes that, aside from a hastily eaten granola bar from this morning and her coffee, she hasn’t actually ate anything all day, and her stomach grumbles loudly at the thought. Thankfully it’s loud enough in the shop that she’s sure there’s no way anyone heard, but her cheeks heat up anyways. She waits at the other counter, watching three people get up to retrieve their late lunch or early supper, impatiently listening to the numbers count up towards hers.

She calls Sugar a couple times while she eats but only gets her voicemail, and her text messages stay on read, and she wants to be frustrated but it’s just _so_ like Sugar to be sitting somewhere laughing at Santana, so, she can’t really stay mad for too long. She tries Facebook again but realizes she forgot to figure out Brittany’s name from her signature because Tina interrupted her, and she mutters a curse under her breath but keeps scrolling through the hundreds of _Brittanys_ on Facebook. After half an hour of finally filling her grumbling stomach and downing a bottle of water, she detours to the bathroom and then exits the shop, feeling refreshed again. She picks a direction and starts wandering, because it worked out well last time. 

The sun is starting its descent and it feels almost like winter in the shade of the buildings around her. She shivers and cuddles closer into her jacket, fingering the picture pressed against her phone as she wanders the streets and desperately tries to figure out where to find Brittany. 

She comes across a small park and she smiles briefly, crossing the street to enter it. Almost all of Brittany’s photographs were taken outside, and based on what Brittany told her of her habit of walking to clear her mind Santana figures the park is as good a bet as any. The paths are paved and winding, sprinkled with the gold and orange leaves of autumn. Fake cobwebs hang from some trees and sport sloppily carved pumpkins under them; children shriek as they chase each other through the leaves while parents watch on and call out exasperated warnings that are never fully followed. Dogs bark and stretch their leashes to the limit to sniff at strangers and the hint of an acoustic guitar fills the air from the other side of the park. 

Santana wanders through the park slowly, chewing on her lip before pulling out her phone, carefully tucking the polaroid back into her pocket. 

“This is a fucking long shot,” Santana mutters darkly as she scrolls through her contacts.

Mercedes picks up after the second ring and there’s a bright laugh in her voice. “Santana, who knew the blind date you were dreading would go on for _hours_ and _—_ ”

“It’s not— I’m not with her right now,” Santana interrupts.

Mercedes grows quiet and sombre. “Geez, Santana, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“The date went perfectly,” Santana interrupts again. 

Mercedes hesitates. “So,” she trails off and Santana can hear her confusion over the phone.

“It’s— It’s a long story. She— I’m trying to find her but I don’t have her phone number,” Santana explains, running her thumb over the polaroid in her pocket. “Her name’s Brittany and since you and Sam know, like, _every_ one I was wondering if you, you know, know her?”

Mercedes hums and Santana knows she’s still confused but she answers with a “Hold on a sec,” anyways. Santana waits impatiently as Mercedes’ voice grows distant and muffled. “Sam knows _of_ a Brittany Pierce,” she says within a couple moments. “Is that her?”

Santana’s heart makes the leap from her chest to her throat and she stumbles over an invisible crack in the sidewalk as she tries to force it down. She shouldn’t get her hopes up, but she does anyway. “Blonde hair, blue eyes? Freckles and dancer’s body? She’s taking photography at Tisch?” she prompts frantically, “She has smile that could make flowers grow?” Santana bites down on her lip hard enough to _ache_ as that the last descriptor makes it through, and she can practically _hear_ Mercedes’ smug smile through her phone. “Please forget I said that,” she begs, “You can make fun of me later but I _need_ a lead on this girl ‘Cedes.”

“Aww, Satan,” Mercedes coos, “you sound like you’re blushing.”

“Oh fuck off, Wheezy.”

Mercedes laughs and her voice gets muffled again for a moment, the rustling of cloth against the speaker filling Santana’s steps as she crosses the park, waiting for Mercedes to come back. She takes the polaroid out of her pocket and her heart leaps again as she looks at those blue eyes; she doesn’t know if it’s Brittany’s photography skill or if it’s just Brittany herself, but somehow Santana thinks if she keeps staring at the picture those eyes will start blinking and moving with life. “Yeah,” says suddenly, “Sam says he thinks Brittany Pierce definitely is your girl.”

“Does Sam know anything else about her? Like were she might be right now?” 

There’s another muffled pause as Mercedes talks to Sam and Santana doesn’t even realize how fast she’s walking until she almost trips over the back of someone’s shoes. She forces herself to slow down and presses her phone more firmly to her ear. “Sam says he doesn’t have a clue,” Mercedes continues suddenly. “He knows there’s someplace out of the way that she goes when she needs to think but he has no clue where it is. Or where the heck you’d find her in general.”

Something deep in Santana wakes up at that and she suddenly stops walking, people grumbling as they dodge her frozen body in the middle of the pathway but she can’t find it in herself to care. She glances down at the photograph in her hand and catches on those blue eyes again as her mind races and her heart pounds. 

_Find me_.

“Santana? Girl, are you still there?”

“Yeah,” Santana says absently, “I— I gotta go. I think I know where she is.”

//

The place looks exactly as Santana remembers from the polaroid: a city painted in gold and pink, the buildings dark against the purple sky and the orange of the setting sun, the river flashes in pink and violet and blue, thin clouds converging across the sky. There’s a spruce tree beside the bench overlooking the city and Santana smiles as she crosses the stretch of grass, red and orange leaves crunching under her boots, completely ignoring the breathtaking cityscape in favour of watching the way the wind plays with the golden strands of hair of the lone occupant of the bench.

“You, Brittany Pierce,” Santana greets once she’s close enough, and the figure quickly turns with a gasp, “Are one hard woman to find.”

“Santana!” Brittany says, and the blue eyes Santana has been chasing down all day land on hers and Santana feels warm and bright on the inside. Her lips curl into a smile that makes Santana’s breath catch, but it’s the pure, unfiltered joy in Brittany’s eyes that makes her heart pound throughout her body until her fingertips start tingling again; Brittany’s smiles always start at her eyes, and the knowledge that Brittany’s happiness is currently directed at _her_ makes something tremble deep in Santana’s being.

Santana rounds the bench and sits down beside Brittany, far enough to be respectful but a little too close to be completely friendly. Brittany takes a long moment and searches Santana’s face, her smile never wavering as her eyes dart all over, lingering on Santana’s own dark eyes and Santana’s lips and those damned dimples.

“How’d you end up finding me?” Brittany finally breathes.

Santana smiles wider even as she feels her cheeks flame under Brittany’s warm gaze. “You told me to find you,” she says and she runs her thumb over the picture in her pocket. “So after running around the city all day without a clue I thought back to what you told me.” Santana glances away quickly and gestures at the view in front of them. “You told me to find you,” she repeats, “And so I went to where you found you.”

Brittany’s smile softens and sweetens and the heat continues to creep under Santana’s cheeks. “Why the wild goose chase?” Santana finally asks.

“I wouldn’t call it a goose chase, unless you found some geese today. Then, maybe.”

Santana’s lips curl up without her permission and she leans over and bumps her shoulder against Brittany’s. “You know what I meant, you goofball,” she teases. “Why the set up? Why all this?”

Brittany gestures to the cityscape with her chin. “It’s a romantic view,” she answers without really answering at all. Pink splotches her cheeks as Santana remains silent, studying Brittany steadily and, for the first time, she looks a little nervous. Her teeth bite down into a pink lip and Santana’s eyes are drawn to the worrying movement. “You don’t hate me or something, do you?” she whispers.

Santana can’t help the giggle that escapes her. She shuffles a little closer, shifting her hand along the bench until it bumps against Brittany’s, pinky to pinky. “It was an unconventional day, yes. But no, I definitely don’t hate you for it.”

Brittany relaxes and lets her pinky press more fully against Santana’s; it sets off something fluttering and warm in Santana’s chest. “I saw it in a movie once,” Brittany explains. “Kind of.”

“Why?” Santana prompts softly again when Brittany trails off.

“I thought it was— Like it was fate, or something, I guess. Or a series of coincidences, maybe. But it seemed like the thrill to the chase or something and it,” Brittany trails off again and a small frown line creases the skin of her brow. “I know I’m rambling but I don’t really know why I did it,” she eventually continues, voice quiet and small. “I really, really like you, I think,” she admits and that fluttering thing erupts in Santana’s chest again, she thinks it might be butterflies. “I think I wanted to know if, if it were left up to chance instead of Sugar if you would still— If we would still— If chance would put us together still.”

“I get that,” Santana says softly, and there’s a long charged moment where blue eyes catch on brown.

“Why’d you go looking for me?” Brittany eventually murmurs.

Santana can feel her heartbeat in her fingertips again as she glances away before catching Brittany’s eyes again and something swoops deep in her stomach. “I thought you might be worth the chase.” 

Santana can see Brittany’s breath catch in a small gasp and blue eyes dart down to Santana’s lips for a moment before meeting dark eyes again. “And was I? Worth the chase, I mean.”

Santana smiles and nods softly. “Definitely.”

“Okay,” Brittany says, and nods quickly as her smile starts in her eyes and creeps across her lips. “Okay,” she says again, and if Santana didn’t know any better she would think Brittany’s face was getting closer to hers.

It’s not until warm breath tickles her face, alighting her nerves and faintly stinging her cold skin, that she realizes Brittany’s face is getting closer to hers, blue eyes darting down to Santana’s lips before catching back on brown eyes and Santana’s pretty sure her heart stops beating all together.

She should be worried that she doesn’t _really_ know Brittany all that well. She should be pissed that she wasted an entire day scrambling around the city trying to find a single pair of elusive blue eyes. She should be wary that Brittany’s some kind of serial killer and just lured Santana to this bench overlooking the city and the sunset so she had a private spot to murder her. She should be concerned at how fast her heart is pounding and her her hands are sweating like she’s stepping up on stage for the first time all over again.

There’s all of these things that Santana _should_ be, but instead, she tilts her chin up slightly and lets Brittany press soft, pink lips to hers. It’s only a brief press of their mouths, a chaste brush of lips, and still Santana’s soul trembles at the feeling, immediately yearning for more in a way Santana’s never felt before.

Brittany’s eyes flutter open and she searches Santana’s eyes for something, something she seems to find with ease as she slowly pulls away. Santana immediately misses her warmth, and she knows there’s no hiding her dimples as a smile starts to spread across her face, mirroring the one spreading across Brittany’s face too. They settle into the bench again and look out across the river, shoulder to shoulder and pinky to pinky, and Santana soaks in the serenity of the sunset for a moment before she turns her face to Brittany’s, waiting until Brittany’s looking at her. She grins cheekily and haltingly takes Brittany’s hand, sinking into the warmth blooming in her chest when Brittany immediately twists her wrist and tangles their fingers together. “So,” Santana drawls, lolling her head towards Brittany and failing to keep the laughter out of her voice, “do I get your phone number now?”

Brittany’s laugh carries across the cold autumn air and settles warmly in Santana’s chest as she shifts and sinks into Brittany’s shoulder, ink stained fingers squeezing teasingly around hers as she soaks in Brittany’s warmth and the orange sunset. 


End file.
